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Letting Your “No” be a “Yes”

Posted by: on: February 19, 2015

I got an astounding text from my 23 yo daughter the other day that read, “I think the universe just shifted. I actually like peas now!” To understand the gravity of this announcement, I must go back to her childhood. For most toddlers, peas are a favorite, not only because they apparently taste good, but because they are so easily picked up by that developing pincer grasp. Not Cherry. From the start, peas were a no-go. At our table, our kids were expected to learn to eat what was set before them, even were it only a bite or two. (OK, ok, to be honest, sometimes they were required to eat more than that if it was the main or only course. I hope they have since forgiven me.) But as she grew, Cherry was determined that the little green offenders would find no entrance; many is the time she sat at the dining table contemplating those tiny verdant orbs long after the rest of us had left. The most comical time we remember (and tease her about), was once when she was maybe kindergarten age. We had finished dinner, and to my surprise, Cherry’s plate was clean. “I ate my peas!” she told me. I praised her for it, of course, well pleased that the peas battle had been won with no bloodshed – for that round, at any rate. However, after doing dishes, I went and sat in the recliner in the living room, which has a direct view of the dining table. Glancing over, I noticed something odd under Cherry’s chair – and not just one. On closer examination, I found, you guessed it, a dozen peas! During the meal, she had been surreptitiously dropping those peas one by one under her chair when I wasn’t looking. In the manner of children, it never occurred to her that those peas would stay on the carpet as mute witnesses to her deception. She never pulled that trick again, though she found others, but once she left home for college, you could count on the fact that peas would never soil her plate, let alone cross her palate. When we found Sandra Boynton’s book/CD “Rhinoceros Tap” a few years ago, one song stood out: “O, Lonely Peas”, of which there is a comical performance you can find on YouTube.

One element of Lent is the practice of giving something up – fasting from something – for the Lenten period. I have known many for whom fasting in Lent is a form of self-abasement, a way to remind themselves of what awful, terrible, no-good, very bad people they are. Frankly, I don’t see that in Scripture. Paul identifies himself once as “chief of sinners”, but that is hardly his theme song, nor does he address the believers in the various churches as such. Numerous times we see variations on the Ephesians 5:8 passage, “Once you were darkness, but now you are light.” There’s a then, and there’s a now. Although there is a Lenten element of reflection on how our sin necessitated His sacrifice, I believe the purpose of the practice of Lent and its fasting should not be to focus on US and how far we fall short and what worthless maggots we are, but on HIM, His goodness, His grace to us, the depth of His love for us. In the light of His character and His grace to us, our response is to contemplate the ways in which our “work[ing] out our salvation” needs attention, areas where we are not as conformed to the likeness of His Son as we know we should be, asking His help to “will and to do”.

Rather than self-abasement, the self-denial of the Lenten fast is altogether different. In and of itself, self-denial usually feels like a negative action, but in Lent, that negative becomes a positive. Jesus said of anyone who would follow Him, “… let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.” If we stop at the denying of self, so that our fasting is only saying “no” to whatever we’ve given up, we’ve missed the point. We fast from one thing in order that we may be freed to embrace something better. Fasting is an opportunity to focus one’s mind and heart on the things of God, beginning with the saying of “no”, but then moving on to a holy “Yes” – the self-reflection of what cross we have yet to take up, and the highest good of what it means to follow HIM.

For many years Cherry would quite willingly have given up peas for Lent, but if the object given up is no real sacrifice, there is no gain from giving it up, either. There are two things that I absolutely love, and that are both rather addictive for me – as in, once I have the first bite, I have trouble stopping: any form of bread or cracker, and sweets, especially chocolate. Because of the way last year went with caring for my mother and cousin being so intense and time-consuming, with all the stress attendant thereto, indulging in sweets and breads almost without limit became a daily practice. So, for my Lenten fast, I have chosen to give up all those things.  Yes, even chocolate. It’s not that those things are evil. For me, however, they have assumed too much power; they have become a comfort that only God should be. Saying “no” to these foods is a very real sacrifice, from my mouth’s point of view, but it will enable me to say “yes” to the self-control that is the fruit of the Spirit, allowing God to reveal Himself as the One Who is Enough – not only when it comes to my gluttony, but to other areas of my walk with Him as well.

Last year I gave up iced tea, which I usually drink several glasses of a day. It isn’t a “problem” food, but because of how ever-present that glass of tea would normally be, its absence provided a frequent reminder to pray and seek God’s face. Some people give up Facebook so that they can spend in prayer and contemplation the time they would otherwise spend perusing cute kitten videos, memorable memes, and status updates. Some fast for certain meals and give the money saved to a compassionate cause, asking God to teach them His love for others. The possibilities are endless, but if you choose to fast for Lent, remember that it is not enough to just say “no” – go on to saying “Yes!”

Peas be with you!

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Ash Wednesday 2015

Posted by: on: February 18, 2015

I love organizing. It’s one of my most useful vices. Normally through the course of the year I go through just about every cabinet and shelf and closet to sort out things that no longer need to be kept, and to optimize the organization of what is left. Last year being what it was, I didn’t get to do that, so since the start of January, I have been immersing myself in catching up on it. Several boxes have gone to Goodwill already. It gives me a sense of security and freedom to know just what I have and where it is, and to feel reasonably sure that I am not allowing my house to build up a weight of unnecessary belongings.

For most of the world, yesterday was a big day. Mardi Gras is one of the biggest parties of the year, an excuse for drunkenness, lewdness, and revelry – a celebration of debauchery. I doubt that the majority of the celebrants even know what Mardi Gras means. As far as the world goes, hey, any excuse for a party, right? As for Lent itself, the world, if it has any knowledge of it at all, sees it only as the spoilsport of Mardi Gras . Even among Christians, there are a lot of erroneous ideas about what Lent is, associating it only with having to “give something up” for Lent. In reality, Lent is a positive, deeply meaningful season.

From the early centuries of the Church, a traditional calendar grew up that marked certain milestones in the life of Christ and of His Church, not unlike the Jewish festivals which likewise follow the seasons and serve as reminders of important events in the Old Testament. Most Protestant churches have abandoned that liturgical calendar, which is a shame, for, just as the Jewish people would through the year relive key moments of their history, so, too, does the liturgical calendar call Christians to reflect on key moments in ours. The calendar begins with the season of Advent, a time of preparation for Christmas, calling for reflection on why Christ came and focusing on the foretelling of His birth and earthly life. Next comes the twelve days of Christmas, celebrating His birth. January 6th marks Epiphany, remembering the coming of the Magi. The season of Epiphany lasts until Lent, and the focus during this time is the life and ministry of our Lord, with the study of the Gospels. Lent is a time of preparation for Easter, and the Easter season itself lasts until Pentecost, when we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit. From Pentecost until the final Sunday before Advent, the focus is on the Church and the non-Gospel books of the New Testament. The final Sunday before Advent is known as Christ the King Sunday, a celebration of Jesus’ second and final coming when He shall reign forever. While none of these seasons and celebrations are, of course, dictated by Scripture, their observance gives a beautiful rhythm to the year. As put by Archbishop J. Peter Sartrain, “The liturgical year continuously exposes us to every aspect of the mystery of Christ – not because we best understand His life, death, and resurrection in chronological order, but because by being continuously exposed to Christ, we allow Him to enter more deeply into our lives. The same lesson I learn this year can be deepened next year, both because I have had new experiences and because I have allowed Christ to help me understand them in His light.”

Last week a friend gave me two little devotion booklets for Lent. One of the booklets begins with the prayer used by the Roman Catholic Church for the first Sunday in Lent which I think is going to serve as a thoughtful starting place for me this season. “Grant, almighty God, through the yearly observance of holy Lent, that we may grow in understanding of the riches hidden in Christ and by worthy conduct pursue their effects.” For some, Lent is a season of focusing on their own sinfulness and unworthiness, and fasting from some certain food or activity is simply a form of self-mortification to emphasize the point. How very different an approach, then, to consider Lent not a time to look inward only, but as a time to immerse oneself in focusing on growing in understanding, not of ourselves and how horrible we are, but of HIM, and how great He is. From that starting place, we then consider our lives and how we are living them. It is a time of doing to my life what I am doing to my house: facing up to what’s there and deciding if it’s something I should keep or get rid of, or if there’s a better way I should be handling it.

We all have things in our lives that we need to get rid of or change; we all need to “clean house.” Let this Lenten season be our opportunity for asking our Father to shine His light into the all the corners, and then asking Him to help sort out what we need to get rid of.

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A “good death”? Depends on the destination!

Posted by: on: January 25, 2015

It was an interesting juxtaposition of events last October that as my mother was on the final stretch of her torturous journey to Home Plate, Brittany Maynard was preparing to execute her well-publicized plan to kill herself on November 1st.

Mama and Maynard both had brain tumors. (Mama’s cancer started in her lung, but metastasized to her brain, and it was the brain tumor that had the most impact in her last months.)   The kind of end Mama went through was precisely what Maynard wanted to avoid. Since the cancer was going to kill her, Maynard saw killing herself first as a way to beat it to the punch, ending life on HER terms. Maynard was lauded by many as a hero, a courageous spokesperson for the “right” to choose the time, place and manner of one’s own death. It is odd that many of those debating seem to think this is a new idea.

The practice of killing oneself – or, rather, the cultural acceptance or prohibition of it – is ancient, although the reasons for it have varied greatly. In many indigenous cultures, for example, it is common for the elderly to deliberately leave the village and wander off to die on their own, thus decreasing the drain on communal resources and increasing the odds for survival of the living. In Hindu India for centuries, the practice of suttee – a living wife being immolated along with her deceased husband – was a cultural norm. Although it was not uncommonly carried out with the aid of sedating drugs or brute force on the unwilling or fearful, many a wife went quite willingly, sometimes out of such love for her husband that she did not wish to live without him, perhaps more often because she knew that the life of a widow was a sheer misery, since it was disgraceful that she should live while her lord and master did not.  She would be forced to live out the rest of her life as a drudge to either her husband’s family or her father’s house. In Roman times, some enemies of Caesar were given an order of forced suicide to “open their veins” or to drink hemlock as a more dignified option than the humiliation of public arrest and execution, but other enemies who learned of plans for such orders, or for orders to arrest and execute them, chose to kill themselves before the orders could be given, so as to deprive Caesar the pleasure of triumph.  In Japan, committing seppuku, or hari-kiri, was (and even for many in modern times, IS) considered the only honorable way to recover honor after dishonor. In modern Western civilization, the justification for killing oneself is about the “right” to control the time, place, and manner of one’s own exit from this life. The goal is to ensure that one experiences a “good death.”

That sounds appealing, doesn’t it – “a good death”? A death that is peaceful. A death free from pain or suffering. A death that happens in a place of our choosing, where we are happy and comfortable, surrounded by the people or things that we love. A death that comes while we are in possession of our faculties and before the indignities and frailties of physical decline. Given our druthers, even if we don’t believe it’s right to force the issue as Maynard did, who wouldn’t prefer the “good death” option over Door #2? I would. I know Mama did. Those of us who loved her certainly hoped for that “good death” for her.

She didn’t get it. Her last hours were as difficult as the months preceding it had been. Her pain had proved extremely difficult to manage; she couldn’t take the usual go-to meds, and it took a lot of experimenting with others to find a good combination that worked – and then her pain would change and we’d start fruit-basket-turnover again. She was in pain at the end. She spent her last months in what is known as “paranoid delirium.” One time she passed notes to her hospice nurse about calling the FBI to rescue her because she was in danger – Patti (my sister-in-love) and I were apparently anti-government agents out to harm her. There were repeated issues with getting her to take her meds, either her being convinced that her taking them would cause hundreds of other people to die, or that taking them was what was making her sick (rather than having cancer), or alternately that they were part of a conspiracy to keep her alive when she just wanted to die and go be with the Lord! She was able to be in her own home, as she had always wanted, but once the paranoia started, she felt “trapped.” She died at home, but she was totally unaware of her surroundings. Patti and I were with her in her last hours, but I honestly have no idea if she truly knew who we were or even that we were there (consciously.) Mama’s last hour and actual death itself were horrible, traumatic for both Patti and me to watch. We sang no hymns. Our only prayers were gut-wrenching cries of, “Oh, God, please take her Home and let this be over!!!”   Mama experienced no visions of angels or loved ones already passed on, no glimpses of Glory. Her last words, between great gasping gulps for air, were, “I had no idea it could be so hard!” When she had gone, there was no look of peace and calm on her face. No, it was not a “good death.”

The world looks at a death like Mama’s and sees it as an evil. As far as the world is concerned, suffering is only “good” if it is for some kind of greater purpose that we understand and agree with and will achieve something for us when we’re done. That’s why it makes perfect sense, from a worldly point of view, to do as Maynard did. Going through the suffering and pain of cancer was for no understandable purpose; she certainly didn’t agree to take it on; and it would achieve nothing for her but death, which she could obtain on her own without going through the suffering.   People of Maynard’s convictions look at what my mother experienced and see a textbook example for exactly why they believe in what Maynard did.

But they’ve got it wrong. The world sees only the outside and existence this side of the grave, while God is concerned with the inner man, and what lies beyond death. Everything we undergo has the purpose of conforming us to the likeness of His Son and preparing us for Heaven. Everything. God doesn’t put His children through suffering for kicks and giggles, nor does He take our suffering lightly. It is nothing against us that we would prefer not to suffer; Jesus Himself dreaded the suffering He was to undergo, and said, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.” If we are to be like Him, however, we must then also say as He said, “But, hey, it’s what YOU want that matters.” Hebrews 5:8 tells us that Jesus, though He was a son, learned obedience through suffering. Now, since He never sinned, we know that this isn’t referencing obedience as opposed to being disobedient. Since we are being conformed to His image, so, too, there must be ways in which there is obedience we are learning by our suffering that has nothing to do with sin. II Corinthians 4:16-18 says “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison as we look not to the things that are seen, but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” No matter what was going on with Mama on the outside that we could see as she wasted away, we can trust with perfect confidence that her inner self WAS being renewed day by day. No matter how horrible and drawn-out the process seemed here on earth, in the light of eternity, it was but the blink of an eye. Any pain she endured here was the last pain she will ever experience for all the rest of eternity – and even the memory of it was wiped away as she entered her Father’s house!

For those without the Lord, well… I guess they may as well hope for that “good death”, because it will be the last pleasure they will ever know. If they remember its existence on the other side, it can but add to their torment to know that it is eternally lost to them.

For the believer, there is no such thing as a “bad” death; for us, all deaths lead but to Paradise. For the unbeliever, a “good death” is just a nicer entrance to Hell.

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His mercies never come to an end

Posted by: on: August 17, 2014

When I was a college student at Seattle Pacific University back in ’80-’81, I was part of a small group of friends who hung out a lot. We did a weekly Bible study together, and one of my favorite parts of that time was singing. April would play her little three-quarter sized guitar, and we’d sing one song after another. We sang John Fischer songs. “Love Him in the morning when you see the sun a-risin’…” We sang a lot of Keith Green. Second Chapter of Acts, Phil Keagy, Larry Norman. All the usual suspects of the day. (And all of whom I still listen to!) My favorites were always the Scripture ones. I have a little notebook where I have them all handwritten with their chords, although I don’t need the book for just singing them. I love it when I’m reading through the Bible in the course of my daily reading and suddenly find myself singing what I’m reading. It is a tragedy that actual Scripture songs – the “psalms” of Paul’s exhortation to “speak to one another in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs” – are by and large no longer sung – not even in church services or Sunday schools.

Anyway, I still sing the songs for my own pleasure and blessing. Some of the songs, of course, have extra special meaning. “When I am afraid, I will trust in You, I will trust in You, I will trust in You/When I am afraid I will trust in You, in God Whose Word I praise” is a favorite for times of fear, and I used to sing it to my little ones after a bad dream. “Peace give I to thee/Peace give I to thee/Not as the world gives, give I to thee/Peace give I to thee” is one I often use singing myself to sleep. (I sometimes substitute the word “sleep” for peace; I don’t think He minds, as they bear a certain similarity in meaning.) One of my favorites for comfort comes from Lamentations 3:22-23. (You can find several versions of it on youtube. The Maranatha singers one is reasonably well done.)

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases/His mercies never come to an end/
They are new every morning, new every morning/
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God/Great is Thy faithfulness.”

That’s what we often say of my dad’s death. He died of a massive, unheralded heart attack back in 1991. I said something to the coroner about how at least I hoped he hadn’t suffered too much. The coroner said, “Oh, no. He didn’t even know he’d been hit! One second he was here; he blinked; and he was at the pearly gate, wondering how he got there.” That’s the kind of death Daddy always prayed for. It was hard on the rest of us not getting to say good-bye, of course, hardest on those far away who hadn’t seen him for some time. All those last times that we didn’t know were the last, so we didn’t savor them as we would have and wish we had. But for Daddy himself, we were thankful. We said it was a mercy.

My mother’s cancer is claiming more and more of her now, requiring more and more medication to try to keep her comfortable – and even safe. She gets so restless that she will pace until she is staggering if not given enough sedative to knock her out. She hates it. She hates taking all these pills, and she often blames the pills for her problems rather than her disease. But it IS the disease, sapping her strength, stealing her mind, distorting her senses, super-charging her emotions. I believe there are still a very few in the circle still praying for a healing miracle (what for I don’t know – why wish her to stay HERE rather than go to Heaven?) The vast majority of us, including Mama herself, pray every night that she won’t be here in the morning. We say, “It would be a mercy.”

My sister’s mother-in-love has severe dementia. It’s not my story, so I’ll give no details, but it’s not so different from that of the millions of other families dealing with what is called the living death of dementia. My dad’s older brother died of Alzheimers, the younger is dying of it. The details of the stories differ, but the plot’s the same. We all shudder at the thought of ending up there ourselves, losing ourselves a piece at a time, knowing we’re losing it and unable to do anything about it, until finally the day may come when we’ve lost so much we don’t even remember that we’ve lost anything. I’ve told my sister many times that I’d rather go through what I’m going through with our mother than what my sister is going through with her dear mother-in-love.

Lately, though, I’ve realized that that’s really a skewed perspective. There are not gradations to God’s mercy. He was not most merciful to Daddy, less so to Mama, and being least of all so to Barb. Either His mercy is the same for all, or He is cruel. Either His love is steadfast for all, or He is indifferent. Either He is faithful, or He is capricious and untrustworthy. We accept all three attributes as equally true across all times and all situations, or we reject them all together. They’re a package deal.

There will be times of emotional turmoil when we will cry out, “Lord, I believe! Help Thou my unbelief!”, and in His forbearance and tender-hearted mercy, He will do just that, but at some point we have to face the question of whether we will choose to trust God’s mercy or not. He doesn’t OWE us any explanations for His actions. If you think He does, then you have set yourself up as HIS judge, which is a pretty ludicrous place to be. Even if He were to give us a full explanation, our finite minds are not capable of understanding His infinite reasons. Occasionally He may give us a glimpse, but if we predicate our trust on God defending Himself to us, then we don’t actually trust Him at all. We believe God is merciful because He says He is, or we believe Him to be a liar.

No, God is being just as merciful to Barb now as He was to my dad then. God will be just as merciful to Mama whether He takes her Home tonight, or she has to endure weeks more of suffering. His purpose for Mama and for Barb is just as Good and Righteous as His purpose was for my dad. His presence with their spirit is just as real whether their mind knows it or not. Our spirit is given us at the moment of conception, long before there is a cognitive mind to comprehend anything about the world. (Remember how John the Baptist leapt for joy in utero at the presence of the Lord, also in utero?) Our spirit endures as long as we have the breath of life, whether our cognitive mind comprehends anything around us or not. Barb’s spirit is still alive and well inside her crumbling frame, and God is still working on perfecting her, conforming her to the image of His Son. We cannot SEE this, yet God’s Word tells us that that IS God’s purpose for us in this life; Scripture doesn’t contain an exception clause, “…. Unless something happens to your mind or body to screw you up.”

Suffering is a result of sin being in the world; it wasn’t God’s idea. Yet somehow in His divine Providence, He still causes all things, even our suffering, to bend to the task of accomplishing His purpose for the good of those who love Him. What my mom is going through, what Barb is going through, what all those around them are going through because THEY are going through what they’re going through (got all those antecedents?) is all – ALL – consistent with God’s love, His mercy, and His faithfulness.

If Mama is not here in the morning, it will be a mercy. If she is here in the morning? It will be a mercy. His mercies are new EVERY morning. Great is Thy faithfulness, O God! Great is Thy faithfulness.

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The Shadow Lengthens

Posted by: on: August 5, 2014

And so it is coming. We’ve known since December 6th that Mama is dying. But knowing in the theoretical doesn’t really prepare you for the reality. Having never been present during the dying process, it is all new territory. And although she was present for both my dad’s mother and her own father’s slow journeys to their deaths, this is new territory for Mama as well, of course. You don’t get a practice run for dying.

She stopped her cancer drug about a month ago now and officially entered hospice care. The drug was more or less holding the lung tumor at bay, but doing nothing for the brain tumor, and though it was keeping her alive, it wasn’t giving her a LIFE. The decision to stop was not hard. She knows her destination and is eager to reach it. It’s the dying process itself that scares her – a not unreasonable fear given the likely symptoms involved.

The doctors promise that you don’t have to die in pain and discomfort, but they don’t always make clear that to do that, you will have to be on massive amounts of drugs, and that the side effects of those drugs can be as difficult to manage as the symptoms of the disease itself – especially if, as with Mama, you can’t tolerate some of the best drugs for the symptoms.

In the last month, and especially in the last week, Mama has deteriorated noticeably. Quite probably the brain tumor is exacting a high price by now, and the lung tumor is also likely to be far more vicious. The cancer may have even spread further. Certainly she has more frequent and worse pain, has absolutely no energy, and now is dealing with some mental confusion. It doesn’t seem likely that she can go on for too much longer. None of us would want her to.
Yet it still comes as something of a shock, this adjusting to constant new realities, this realization that change will be the new “normal” from here on out. For all the grieving I have already done, I keep finding new depths to plumb – and I expect it will go on until, and after, she is gone. I dread her being gone, even while I pray for the Lord to take her quickly. It’s such an odd mixture of emotions.

But what I’m going through is nothing new. Children have been helping their parents through death since Seth and his siblings watched Adam and Eve die. Being at the tail end of the Boomer generation, many, many of my friends have already lost their parents, or are in the same process, or expect to be there before long. In one way, it is irrelevant because no one else has gone through MY loss, and yet, in another, it is a huge comfort to me to know that I share my lot with others. It was the same when we lost a child to miscarriage between our 4th and 5th children, and I discovered at my women’s Bible study that of the 12 women there, only two had not suffered the same loss – and of those two, one had not married until after her child-bearing years were past. What I am doing in taking care of my mother is nothing extraordinary, either. It has been done by millions of children, is being done by millions of children, and will continue to be done by children until the Lord comes.

In his first letter, Paul tells the Corinthians that “nothing has overtaken you but what is common to man.” Although he was talking specifically about temptation, in reality, the same thing applies to all of life. None of us goes through anything really and truly unique. The exact circumstances may vary, but the kind of trauma, the kind of loss – in these, too, there is nothing new under the sun. Most important of all, in His temptation in the wilderness, in His suffering and death, Christ somehow experienced every human experience. There is no trauma or loss that Christ cannot relate to. He is not standing by watching what we are going through and saying, “Man, I wish I knew how to help, but this is beyond Me.” No, He is ever-present, sure and steady, our Rock in the midst of the flood. As He wept at Lazarus’ tomb, weeping at the destruction brought about in His creation by the entrance of sin, He shares our grief at the death of our mother, but beyond that He stands with us to give us the strength to bear up, the peace that even this is one of the “all things” that He is working together for good for those who love Him, and the sure and certain Hope of the Resurrection to come. What blessed comfort!!

“Jesus walked this lonesome valley
He had to walk it by Himself
Oh, nobody else could walk it for Him
He had to walk it by Himself.

You and I must walk this valley
But we don’t walk it by ourselves
No, He gave His live to walk it for us
So we won’t walk it by ourselves.”

Limited Time Offer

Posted by: on: July 7, 2014

One of the most enjoyable courses I ever did in homeschooling was in critical thinking.  We used a book from Critical Thinking Press (marvelous source for all kinds of thinking-related materials.)  The book first had a short course in logic (e.g. The statement “All dogs are mammals, and all mammals are animals, therefore all dogs are animals” is true, but the statement “All dogs are mammals and all cats are mammals therefore all dogs are cats” is NOT true.)  The book then presented various blind spots, mind traps, and slick tricks that people use and/or fall prey to, dissecting each of them carefully by applying the principles discussed in the first part.    Political speech and advertising, not surprisingly, provided that vast majority of fodder for the analysis.

One very successful sales ploy is the “limited time/amount” sale.  The “Call now!  Operators are standing by!  This offer good until only midnight tonight!” TV ads.  The “lowest price of the season” ads in the newspaper.  (Ever notice just how many “seasons” some stores have??)  The “Only 5,000 of these minted!  Don’t miss out!” commemorative coin.  The “I can only offer you this price today because the boss is on vacation” car deal.  Marketers know that there is something deep in our psyche that reacts to the idea that there won’t be enough of something to go around.

The weeks since my last post have been the calmest I’ve had since Thanksgiving, with only one or two minor unexpected things cropping up, and a few major issues resolved.  Although I know these days have had the precise number of minutes in them as any of the days preceding them, they’ve felt hours longer.  I’ve gotten so much done!  Last Thursday, I actually got my sewing machine out for the first time since mid-November.   I had only just started a set of curtains before Thanksgiving was upon us, so I hastily got them done enough that I could at least hang them from the rod so our guests would have something nicer than an old sheet over the window.  With Mama’s cancer diagnosis coming right after Thanksgiving, and all that has been since, I hadn’t touched those curtains again.  I’ve now gotten them done, and not only the curtains, but two covers for throw pillows on the couch.  Hurray!!!

Why didn’t I get them done before now?  I just didn’t have the time.  No time.  No time.  That’s been my mantra for the last 7 months:  I don’t have time.  I don’t have time.  “No time” became a reason – or an  excuse – for not doing all kinds of things.  Exercise?  No time.  Eat right?  No time.  Keep in touch with friends?  No time.  Work on projects?  No time.

I’m not denying that things have been quite hectic – they have been – but two things recently have helped me realize that it was my perception of how busy things were that had more to do with the problem that the actuality of what was going on.

The first thing was that I read an interesting article in Readers Digest a month ago about insights from a book called “Scarcity:  Why Having Too Little Means So Much”  (by Shafir and Mullainathan).  The book’s authors are social scientists who have studied people in the context of a variety of contexts of scarcity – people who are financially poor, people who are extraordinarily busy, people who are dieting, people who lack social companionship – and what they have found is quite interesting.   To quote the RD article,

“…whenever we perceive a lack of something – be it food, money, or… time – we become so  absorbed by it that our thinking is altered. … ‘Scarcity captures the mind.’  the authors write.  ‘The mind orients automatically, powerfully, toward unfulfilled needs.’ … in all kinds of  circumstances, the psychological effect of scarcity was remarkably similar:  a kind of tunnel    vision that can help us focus on the immediate need … but that can also have negative long-       term consequences, both in terms of ignoring other important areas of our lives and not making       good decisions for the future.  ….  Fluid intelligence, cognitive capacity, and executive control all   come under what Shafir and Mullainathan term mental ‘bandwidth,’ and even the slightest               suggestion of scarcity taxes our ability to reason properly, control our impulses, and think clearly.”  [emphasis added]

So, for example, the chronically poor may be great at squeezing 6 nickels out of a quarter, but they tend to be poor at making decisions that will lead to longer-term financial stability.  People who are dieting may become so focused on what they are eating – or rather, on what they are NOT eating – that they can’t focus on their work.  Looking back, not only on these last 7 months, but on other hectic times in my life, I can clearly see scarcity-mindset-induced tunnel vision, poor impulse control, and brain fog in my own life.  Faced with a belief in the scarcity of some resource, we all fall prey to the same kinds of effects.

The other thing that happened that jolted my thinking about how much time I have was a conversation with my younger son.   When he dies, his epitaph should be, “I was reading this article the other day….”  You see, he is ALWAYS reading.  He pulls up the most interesting facts and theories from all kinds of sources about all kinds of subjects.   What amazes me is where he finds the time to fit it in!  You see, at the time of the conversation I refer to, he was spending time every day working out to keep in top physical shape, as is expected for a physical trainer.  And taking a class in Muy Thai kickboxing.  And one in jujitsu.  And learning how to kite board.  He had a standing pool game night with friends once a week.  Played in an ultimate Frisbee league every week.  Went for frequent hikes with friends.  Was working part-time 20 to 30 hours a week.  And, oh, yeah, did I mention he was in his last quarter of his senior year getting his bachelor’s degree in kinesiology?  I asked him if he actually did things like, you know, sleep.  Eat.  Relax.  He responded, “Mom, there are 168 hours in every week.  Even getting the 8 hours of sleep a night that I do still leaves 112.  My various classes and work and hanging out take about 80 hours a week, which still leaves around 30 hours for other things.  Besides, reading is as ‘relaxed’ as I get.  My brain’s always moving!”

Hmmm…..

I have those same 168 hours in MY week.  I added up how I typically use them and frankly, it’s too embarrassing to share!  I wasted more time than I want to admit watching TV or catching up on facebook, or doing things that, while more-or-less useful didn’t advance the causes that really needed advancing. There’s a considerable amount of time that I simply can’t account for.  I am not the ADHD Energizer bunny that my son is, so it’s not that I would expect to rival his level of activity, but I can see now that even in the busiest of my weeks, I actually HAD time that I could have used to get things that mattered done.

Instead, I had tunnel-vision, getting hung up on the idea of needing large blocks of time to do things, rather than breaking projects down into their component tasks that would take smaller blocks.  Those curtains?  It took four hours total to finish them.  That’s only 8 half-hour sessions, or 12 of 20 minutes, or even 24 of just 10.  There’s no way I couldn’t have found that much time in the last 7 months.  Ditto with finishing the pillow covers or any of the other many sewing projects languishing on my sewing table, or the many computer projects waiting to be done, or who knows what all else! (Writing blog posts, unfortunately, isn’t something I can do in snatches.  It would be like trying to swim laps in a wading pool!)

Going back to the “poor decision-making” aspect of the scarcity mindset, I can see how many times I did something that “saved” time for the short-term that actually COST time in the long run.  For example, if I put something down “for now” where it doesn’t belong, I may forget where I put it, resulting in time spent looking for it, or the object will gather friends around it, resulting in taking a much longer time to put everything away than it would have taken to put them each away properly in the first place.  Oftentimes I didn’t take time to plan things out thoroughly, resulting in backtracking, undoing, redoing, leaving things undone, and so on.  Taking the time to plan things in the right order would have cost time in the short run, but saved time in the long run.

All this has gotten me thinking about how we fall into the same scarcity trap spiritually.  When we worry about running out of any earthly resource, what we’re really worrying about is whether we are going to run out of God as well!  We start acting as if we were on our own, having to fend for ourselves.  We get the same tunnel vision, unable to see anything but our fear.  We have the same poor impulse control, jumping at anything that looks like a solution.  We lose our ability to reason, our minds “hamster wheeling” round and round on “what ifs.”

God promised that HE will always be sufficient.  Always.  If we don’t have time to do all that we need to do, HE will be sufficient to deal with the consequences of anything left undone.  If we don’t have money enough to pay our bills, HE will be sufficient to help us deal with the consequences.  If we never meet that “Mr./Miss Right”, then HE will be sufficient to help us live a life as full as the single life He lived.  Whatever our shortage, His grace is sufficient.  His strength is sufficient.  His power is sufficient.  HE is what we need, nothing less, nothing more.  There’s no such thing as scarcity when it comes to God.  He has never run out, and never will.  If we focus on how much there is to have of Him, we’ll lose our fear of not having enough of anything else.

His is the Best Ever exclusive, limited time offer.  It’s only good for His children, and only good for Eternity.  Don’t wait!  Call now!

I Would If I Could…. A Christmas to Remember, Part 2

Posted by: on: January 12, 2014

Finally getting a chance to finish up telling you about our Christmas. And this time, I have pictures!

If Christmas Eve was “O, Holy Night”, Christmas Day was definitely “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”! This will definitely go down in our family history as one of the most zany and outrageously funny ones we have EVER had.

For a number of years now, our family has been trying to do things other than the traditional gift thing. Partly this arose from the fact that with this big a family, it gets awfully expensive, not to mention difficult, for everyone to get everyone something. Besides, and more importantly, buying stuff just for the sake of buying stuff – even to say “I love you” – when we already have MORE than enough stuff, seems pointless. So, for a few years, the kids did a round-robin exchange. Then they had each person do a donation in the giftee’s name and give the giftee some little something connected with that organization. Last year, we all pooled of our Christmas gift money and sent one big donation to an organization my brother is involved with. This year, Bethy suggested we do our own things about donations, and do a round-robin exchange of “I would if I could” gifts. That is, “If neither time, money, nor physics were an object, I would give you …..” A new car? A bigger house? A vacation in France? A trip to the moon? All the tea in China? The only limit would be our imaginations. If desired, you could also give a real gift related to the imaginary one, but the important thing was the imaginary one.

For some of us, it was an invitation. As Brooke put it when I announced that I would be texting each person with the name of their intended victim, er, recipient, “Let the shenanigans begin!” For a few, there was at first a “Huh? What on earth am I gonna give X?!?” reaction, but blank stares were quickly replaced by gleams in the eye, mischievous grins, and “Oh, boy, this is gonna be GOOD!” Those of us who knew something of what others were doing pitched in with extra ideas, helping to hone the projects to perfection. The results couldn’t have been more worth it!

Phil gave Bethy her dream house – big house, nice front porch, huge yard with gardens. All she has to do is assemble the 300 pieces of the jigsaw! Jillian gave Brooke a house, too, specifying a number of rooms, such as one JUST for her sewing, complete with a fashion runway. (Brooke is a fashion design grad.) It also came with a huge kitchen for her to play in and all kinds of equipment for cake decorating – starting with the set included in the package.

Bethy gave me three letters. The first is dated 12/20/2014, from writing agent Walter Wordsmith, telling me how blown away he was by the manuscript my daughter submitted for me of my first book, Raising Five Kids with Five Brain Cells, congratulating me for being on the New York Times best-seller list for 15 weeks, and suggesting two more books. The second letter, 2/21/2015, from Spurilious Publishers editor Douglas Inktopolous, confirms the contract for the second and third books, and says he hopes to see the draft for the second – Where Are My Kids and Who Are These Teenagers? – by Christmas. The third letter is from film director Frank Philographer letting me know how the filming of the story based on my third bestseller, Rockin’ & Rollin’ On the Front Porch Swing, is going. I get a cameo appearance, of course, and “(after reviewing the 217 photos your husband submitted) the casting call for child actors for that scene was quietly dropped since your actual grandchildren are clearly cuter.”

To Darien, the fitness buff getting a degree in kinesiology so he can be a personal trainer, Brooke gave the gym of his dreams, and suggested services such as a wind tunnel for sky-diving training, indoor rapids racing, a 5 story climbing wall, shark tank swimming lessons, rabid wolverine wrestling, Temple of Doom Endurance obstacle course, and King David’s Mighty Men certification. Bonus gift: 5 year exclusive contract with Brooke’s imaginary clothing company to produce all his “gym swag needs.” Along with this certificate came the T-shirt Brooke made, as seen in the photo.DSC_0433

Cherry gave her dad some coffees from around the world, and a note that said, “If money were no object, I would pay for you to spend a year travelling the world, taking pictures and tasting exotic coffee.” The funny part, though, was that the first time she printed the note up, she used a fancy font that looked very dignified an official-like….. Reading it, however, she realized that the “x” looked almost identical to the “r”, which gave “exotic” a rather unfortunate appearance!

My brother, Tim, a physics prof at Azusa Pacific, was up from SoCal to see our mom. He is a wonderful guy, witty, thoughtful, tender-hearted….. and as disorganized as you will ever find. He is chronically behind on grading tests and papers, his office shelves look like an office supply store exploded, and I don’t know if he even remembers what color the carpet is under all the files, books, and other detritus thereon. So, we gave him a new app – the “iDO”. When he needs something done, he just has to say, “Who wants to …?” and “iDO!” Jillian designed the button for it with many helpful suggestions for the app to do, such as “schnorfle the snickerbokers” and “unfrazzle my frumpkis”. 1-Tim iDO app

Jillian is a major Dr. Who fan. (If you’re not, you probably won’t get this.) So I gave her a little computer monitor bobblehead of the Tardis, a DVD of the 50th anniversary episode, and a note with a picture of David Tennant (her favorite doctor) that said, “Come fly with me! You have been chosen as the Doctor’s new companion to defeat the Daleks, outwit the weeping angels, and have many adventures with that wibbly wobbly timey wimey…. Oh, you’re back already! Hope you had a good time!” DSC_0451

To nephew, John, who is part of a medieval knights re-enactment troupe, went participation in a full re-enactment of Henry V’s Battle of Agincourt –with a little set of knights and castles Legos to practice with. Tim’s wife, Beth, whose daughter and family moved to Oklahoma this year, bringing on an acute case of grandchild-withdrawal-syndrome, got a Star Trek transporter.

Darien gave Nathan a huge workshop in which to create interesting and/or destructive electronic toys. So what’s with the slice of pickle, you ask? That’s a loooooooong-standing family joke. When I was in high school, my brother Corey gave me a bookbark that was all green and on the top corner looked like it had a bite taken out of it. The bookmark read, “This isn’t a bookmark. It’s a flat pickle.” So, every Christmas, at various times, someone will make a joke about some package being a flat pickle. Darien just figured it was about time someone DID get a flat pickle! 082-Christmas 082

The two most elaborate gifts were put together by the two family members who I think any of us least expected it from. Nathan gave Cherry a trip around the world. That is, he wrote out THREE PAGES of an itinerary. It detailed where she’d go. It detailed how she’d travel – for instance, by elephant from Thailand to Australia. It detailed the kinds of things she would buy where, and came complete with homing drones to carry all of her purchases home so she wouldn’t have to worry about shipping. The description was filled with bits such as “Run out of money? Just print more. (Hey, it works for the government!)” In the very first paragraph, she was instructed to bring with her a bag of marshmellows, and throughout the trip, there would be a reminder about that bag of marshmellows. At the end, she finds out that that day is the pilot’s birthday, and, luckily, she has a birthday present on hand for him: a bag of marshmellows!

To Phil, Rob gave a Seahawks Superbowl package for him and three friends. (Yes, they ARE going to the Sueprbowl. The Seahawks, that is, not Phil and friends.) The package included flying to New York in Paul Allen’s private jet; staying in the same hotel as the team; having a team Visa card to use for all expenses; being in on all the practices, film reviews, coaching meetings, etc.; being in the locker room before the game and running out the tunnel with the team, carrying the 12th man flag; getting to sit in … all the various places in the stadium where they have coaches and spotters and whatever, as well as in the VIP booth. And when the guys return home, Phil will be greeted by Brooke and the girls who will just have gotten home from a trip to any spa of their choosing in the world! This was all detailed in about FOUR pages of description, complete with photos of all the relevant people named. And it came with a Seahawks lanyard to carry his VIP pass on. DSC_0467

Yep, this Christmas is going to be awfully HARD to top!!

When I think of Christmases growing up, I think of a lot of FUN. And quite often, my mom was at the bottom of it. She always found the coolest, funniest, most intriguing little things to put in our stockings. There was the Christmas of The Wind-Up Cars. She found these tiny little funny wind-up cars that went Zip!, and we each got one in our stocking. I’m not sure who started it, but that whole holiday, I remember that every meal was accompanied by cars zipping across the table hither and yon, crashing into glasses and plates or launching off the edge. Her creativity in wrapping was amazing; every package was a work of art. I remember one package like a scene around a little silvery foil lake, with cotton snow, cut-out pine trees, and paper-clip ice-skates for the skaters. Mama loved secrets, and hiding things, and the fun of the discovery – though she did occasionally hide things too well. Until maybe my teens, there seemed to be a tradition that she always forgot one of my presents somewhere. One of my siblings would ask what I thought of my new thus-and-so, I’d looked puzzled, and they’d holler, “Mama! You forgot the –!” And Mama would stand trying to think just where she’d put that…. She always did remember. Sooner or later.

I could go on for pages with funny memories from those Christmases long past, but I won’t. The point is that Mama and Christmas fun are entwined in my memories of childhood, so how incomparably fitting it is that this, the last Christmas where she will be present, should have so much fun in it?

Now to start working on ideas to do for NEXT Christmas! Mama won’t be there – but her spirit of fun and legacy of laughter sure will!

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A Chrsitmas to Remember

Posted by: on: January 5, 2014

The manner of my parents’ dying is a study in contrasts. My dad died of an instant, massive heart attack, totally unexpected and unheralded. He was gone in the blink of an eye. Losing him that way had its blessings. Alzheimers claimed his older brother, and is now claiming his younger; it is highly likely that Daddy, had he lived longer, would also have had it. There was no lingering and suffering. Though the grief was sharp – heart- and mind-numbing- the worst of it was packed into those first few months. Losing him like that also had its own difficulties. I regretted that there was no chance to ask all the questions about his past that I had been only lately wondering about, such as his experiences flying medevac flights in the Philippines during WWII. The hardest thing for me to deal with was that we didn’t get to say goodbye. We didn’t know the “lasts” were, in fact, the lasts. We didn’t know we had spent our last Christmas, last Thanksgiving, last visits. There were no special last memories made.

With my mother dying as she is, we WILL have to watch her suffer. It won’t be for a period of years, as we went through with my dh’s parents, but it will be more than long enough! (Google “dying from lung cancer” and you can find descriptions of what she faces.) By the time she dies, we will long to see her free from the ravages of this disease. Our grief has already begun, coming in fits and starts, and I expect we will have done most of our grieving by the time she is finally released.
But it is a blessing is that we have the chance to ask the questions. We have the opportunity to treasure the “lasts” that we are given. We have opportunities to make special memories that will last us all our lives, to savor moments so that we may fix them in our minds.

So let me tell you of our Christmas to Remember.

From the Friday before Christmas till the morning of New Year’s Day, I had from at least 4 to as many as 15 extra people here every day. All five of our children were here, two with a spouse and 2 granddaughters each. (The first Christmas with all the adult kids for about 3 years, and all 5 together only twice for a few hours in the intervening years.) Also here were my oldest brother, wife, and 2 grown sons, who I only see every few years. The day after Christmas, our oldest son and his family left to visit HER folks, and my youngest older brother, wife, daughter, and their foster baby took their places at the table. (All of which is why I’m not writing about any of this until now!) My kids would have been here, anyway, but my brothers came as a special visit to see Mama.
Mama is no longer able to attend church services. (She had no idea that the Sunday before Thanksgiving would be her last!) So we decided to do a candlelight Christmas Eve service at her house, early enough in the evening for those with little ones to participate. In the dark and hush, the 4 and 2 yo great-granddaughters played well with the Granma’s house toys that the two girls who live here know well. The 7 mo spent the first half-hour or so sitting quietly in Granma’s lap, exceptional for a wiggle worm like Fiona. After a prayer, we began our first carol. As we started on the second verse, I nearly broke down. All my life I have associated Mama and music. She loves to sing, and there are several hymns that always make me think of her because she used to sing them as she did housework. As we were singing that carol, I was suddenly struck by the fact that her voice was missing. The breathing required for singing is too much for her now. I realized I will never hear my mother’s lovely voice lifted in song again.
By the end of the second verse, I had recovered and was able to sing again. Various ones of us chose carols to sing. When our kids were young at home, we sang carols – ALL the verses – throughout the Advent season, so although some were a bit rusty, we made it through all of them. In between songs, we read the story from Luke. I had Bethy read Granma’s favorite reading, a piece written as from Mary to the apostle John, talking about not just Jesus’ birth, but His whole life, through His death and resurrection. Several others shared special things they had been thinking about. Most touching of all was our son, Darien. (This is the one whose teen years we refer to as the Hell Years. Now nearing 25, we are closer than ever, and we have seen amazing growth in his relationship with the Lord.) He has been listening to one of his favorite punk Christian bands and their cover of the old, old hymn, “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing”, and some lines in it had hit him in a profound way. He read them to us. “Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God. He, to rescue me from danger, interposed His precious blood. How His kindness yet pursues me! Mortal tongue can never tell. Clothed in flesh till death shall loose me, I cannot proclaim it well.” He was crying as he read it, and afterwards spoke of the personal meaning of those lines, and his growing awareness that we will never be able to fully express the wonder of God’s grace until we reach heaven. Of all my children, to hear THIS son speak so! What a blessing! The evening continued with song as we asked Mama for suggestions, and we finally ended with prayer. It was one of the most profound, most moving, most holy times I can ever remember with my family. What a memory to carry with us!!

During the week, each of my kids who live far away spent special one-on-one time with their Granma, and my brothers and their wives spent many hours over all the days of their visits sitting and talking with her. We got some great pictures. My brother’s family, Cherry and I also did a Sunday morning service and hymn-sing, another special time together. My mom’s voice couldn’t be raised, but she whispered those beloved words with radiant face.

Each of us had our times of tears, thinking of the Christmases to come where she will be celebrating with the One Whose birth the angels heralded rather than with us. For the out-of town visitors, it was oh, so hard to put a final end to their conversation and say goodbye, not knowing if they will have another visit – or if, by the time they visit, our mother will be on the threshold of heaven. We are all starkly aware of the impending separation. But what a gift to be able to celebrate just once more while she is still here! What a joy to experience just a small foretaste of the joy we will enjoy together for eternity!

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Behind or in front?

Posted by: on: January 17, 2013

The name of my blog is taken from a quote that gives the chemists’ definition of a “solution” – something that’s still all mixed up. Looking at most of my posts, I don’t sound very mixed up. I tend to speak with a high degree of self-assurance, but I would like to make clear that while I do tend to speak in rather definitive tones, I don’t ever mean to imply that I have all the answers. I am fully convinced that equally intelligent people of equally good will may hold very different viewpoints. Today’s post is one that goes back to my “mixed up-ness”, for it speaks to an issue about which I have very mixed feelings – but on which many hold very, VERY decided opinions. So, take these musings in their proper context, please!
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I live in an area that has within about an hour-and-a-half’s drive an army base, air force base, and naval base, with tens of thousands of troops stationed at each. There are multiple National Guard units. There are several seaports, so we are a jumping off place for thousands of tons of military equipment being deployed to/returned from overseas. On any highway, or in any apartment unit or store parking lot you are likely to see license plates from any corner of the country – Maine to California, Florida to Alaska, and, yes, even Hawaii. In any school classroom, there are likely to be a few kids whose dads are either just leaving, in the middle of, or soon to return from a multi-month deployment. The military complex drives a huge part of the Puget Sound economy. Uniforms and buzz cuts are as familiar as Birkenstocks and umbrellas.

It’s not surprising, then, that bumper stickers and Facebook posts here carry lots of pro-military slogans. The two most common are these: “If you won’t stand behind our troops, feel free to stand in front of them” and the milder “Support our troops”. The first one really bothers me. Whether you read it as “if you don’t agree with my definition of supporting our troops, you are the enemy” or as “if you don’t agree, you should be shot”, the sentiment runs counter to the very idea of freedom our troops are supposedly fighting to protect. If we aren’t free to disagree, we’re not free at all! The second phrase carries no condemnation with it, but while I understand the intent, I still find myself wondering just what exactly does it MEAN to “support” our troops?

This isn’t just a matter of theoretical interest to me. I have four “othersons”, boys I’ve known since their childhood or infancy, who are or have been in the military, two of whom have done one or more deployments in this “war on terror.” (I’ve met with their mothers every Tuesday morning for prayer and Bible study for 23 years.) I know several other friends of my kids who are also in the military. I’ve known any number of military families in the churches I’ve been in for the last 28 years. This question of supporting our troops matters very personally. This question has faces. Yet surely, supporting our troops must include a certain degree of … friendly skepticism, if you will.

Not everyone wearing a uniform deserves to be put on a pedestal. No matter how much patriotic sentiment likes to paint a portrait of all soldiers as noble, self-sacrificing heroes, the truth is that soldiers are people, and as such, they run the same gamut as the rest of the population. Read the news around any military-thick area and there will be stories of drunken fights, underage girls smuggled on base with fake IDs for sex and drug parties, domestic violence, drug rings, theft rings, gangs. Some soldiers are using their service to serve themselves, not their country. What does “support our troops” mean in this context?

I am awaiting a chance to read a new book that’s just come out called One Step Ahead of the Devil by L.M. Hausen. (Available at Amazon.)It’s not going to be a fun read. I already know the basic story because I was privileged to be in one of the groups praying for the family as they lived through the events described, the story of a military doctor who refused to falsify some records. The retribution meted out is a harrowing tale that you’d expect from communist Russia, not America. (In case you’re wondering, the story was verified and reported by Sam Donaldson on ABC News. It is fact, not conspiracy fiction.) We’ve all read of other abuses of power by military officers, of sex scandals, of deaths by hazing. The statistics on the rape and sexual harassment of female troops deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan are shocking. What does “support our troops” mean in these situations?

What does “support our troops” mean when faced with events such as the Abu Ghraib prison debacle, or the more recent civilian massacre? What does it mean when one sees photos of American troops posing in apparent glee over the bodies of the dead enemy – bad enough in itself, but all the worse for the extra rage it will engender in the survivors, rallying more to their cause, and in the end, resulting in the death of even more American soldiers?

What does “support our troops” mean if one fervently believes that what they are doing is politically, militarily, and sometimes even morally, wrong, that our troops have been sent to a place they should never have been sent to, to do a job that they should never have been given, for a reason that could never be justified?

I believe the majority of military personnel, like the majority of the civilian population, are basically decent, hard-working people, doing a job that is incredibly hard and that the rest of us wouldn’t do unless compelled by a draft to do so. They are forced to make decisions the like of which I can scarcely even begin to imagine, in conditions that make me shudder to think of – but I recognize that not all deserve the “hero” label. I do not hold the individual soldier responsible for where he finds himself stationed or the war she is assigned to fight – but I do hold them responsible for recognizing the moral limits of the authority of those over them, and for conducting themselves in a manner befitting the uniform they wear. I believe that even if one is utterly convinced that a particular military campaign is wrong, it is never right to take that anger out on the soldier passing by on the street – but I do not believe it is wrong to make one’s voice heard to the leadership of the country in an attempt to get our troops out of it. I believe it is a shame that our country pays many of its soldiers so little that their families qualify for food stamps and other assistance even as the soldier is putting his/her life on the line, and it is an outrage that our country, having exacted so much of our soldiers, provides such poor care after they have served, especially when they have sacrificed bodies, sanity, and family in that service – and there are no “buts” about this one!

I do pray for our troops. I pray that they would conduct themselves with honor and integrity, with wisdom and discretion, with compassion and mercy. I pray that they would not dehumanize either themselves or the “enemy”, but would value all life and not take it from another lightly. Even recognizing that not all civilians would necessarily understand the reasons for their actions, I do pray our troops would take no actions which they would be ashamed to confess before God or man, or which will haunt them after they are home. I pray for their safety. I pray for wisdom for our leaders, that they would not use our soldiers as mere political pawns. Although I personally have a hard time reconciling Christian faith with military service and the taking of life, I pray for the success and advancement of those who can do so, so that they may influence those around them by a Godly witness.

This – prayer – I believe is the responsibility of every Christian, no matter what they may feel about the military or its actions. I believe we are just as responsible to pray for the innocents caught in the crossfire, and even for those who seek to destroy us, if we would follow Jesus’ command. All are ones for whom our Lord gave His life and desires to see come to repentance and salvation.

Just what DOES it mean to “support our troops”? Equally sincere people may reach very different conclusions about it – and though I’m sincere, I haven’t reached a conclusion yet, other than this: it is safer for a society to have a healthy “loyal opposition”, than to have unanimity by silencing all dissenting voices.

If that doesn’t suit your definition of “standing behind our troops”, then prepare the blindfold. I’m ready for the firing squad!

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Day by day, oh,dear Lord, these things I pray

Posted by: on: January 11, 2013

First, for the nitpickers, yes, I know that’s not quite a direct quote. Poetic license.

I have an extreme dislike of the unscriptural term “prayer warrior”. Unscriptural? Yep. Although there are some who are recorded as “wrestling in prayer” for others (see Epaphras), nowhere does the Bible distinguish some believers as “better” pray-ers than others. Certainly there were instances of someone who was willing to “stand in the breach” on behalf of others, but it was that person’s willingness to intercede, not some special ability to do so, that garnered God’s favor. Look at the lists of specific, special spiritual gifts and guess what you won’t find? Prayer. Soldiers fight wars; civilians don’t. If the Church has “prayer warriors”, then an impression may be given that prayer is something that should be left to the “professionals”. Non-“warriors” get the idea that “warriors” are somehow more “effective” pray-ers. Both ideas are mistaken. There are no prayer elites; ALL believers are commanded to pray. Just as there are those who have a great passion for study, for missions, for caring for the poor, for working with children, there are some within the Church who have a greater PASSION for prayer than others – but that does not make them a class apart, let alone somehow “above” the rest.

Given that every believer should pray, I decided I would share how I keep track of who and what I pray for. (This isn’t about my personal prayer – my own confession, praise, supplication, or time spent listening – though all are key parts of a believer’s prayer life. For these, I don’t have a schedule, and I don’t follow a formula. Those are meaningful to many, but I don’t happen to use them. Yea, freedom!) Although I do a lot of on-the-spot prayer for and with others, I floundered for years trying to figure out a way to be more consistent about praying for the people who are a more or less permanent part of my life. I finally ran across some descriptions by other folks that inspired me some years ago, and over time those suggestions jelled into my current practice. I don’t necessarily get this routine done every day. Weekends, and Sunday especially, I’m most likely to not get it done, since Saturday I’m totally out of my weekday routine, and Sunday I’m getting ready for church. Some days I blitz through, and some days I spend a half hour. I’m not as consistent as I’d like to be, but doing it this way at least keeps me MORE consistent than I otherwise would be. This is not intended as a “how to” for everyone – it’s just a “how I” that might give you ideas as others did for me.

I have a small 3-ring binder to keep my prayer stuff in, with three sections. The first has a month by month calendar in which I’ve noted birthdays and anniversaries, and to which I add things such as surgery dates, test dates or graduation dates for students I know, travel dates for mission trips – anything with a specific time frame.

Stuck in the current month, and moved along through the year, is a card with lists of people for whom I pray every time. I list moms-to-be and their due month, with baby’s name if known; these may be family or friends, or increasingly common, children of my friends as we all enter the enchanting land of grandparenthood; I pray that God would knit those babies safely in their mothers’ wombs and keep the mom in good health as she carries her precious burden. (If there are specific concerns, I mention those, too.) Having lost my own father 21 years ago when I was only 30, I have a heart for those who have lost parents, so there is a list of folks who have lost their parents within the last year, which parent, and the month of the loss; I pray that God would comfort them in any stray moments of grief that hit or any anniversaries of events such as birthdays or wedding anniversaries. We have several friends who have children who have turned from the Lord completely, and our own son who, while he has not turned from the Lord, is not living by His standards, either; these are all brought up with a prayer that He would draw them back to Himself, and give the parents wisdom on how to love them with God’s fatherheart. There is a list of soldiers deployed to dangerous places, for whom I pray safety, and that they would take no action for which they would feel shame confessing before God or man; and I pray for their wives and children, that they would be provided for and protected. I pray for our nephew, who is currently a missionary in Africa, that he would be kept safe and that his work would be fruitful. Finally, I have a list of specific family and friends who either don’t know the Lord or who have walked away from childhood training in Him; for these I pray that God would send folks into their path that would speak His word to them, that He would give us wisdom on what/if to say ourselves, and that He would bring them to know Him. Notice that none of these take more than a few sentences each. God listens to our heart, not the word count.

The next section to come up is my immediate family. I pray daily for my husband. I’ve used prayers modeled out of Stormy Omartian’s book The Power of a Praying Wife and others, but I focus a lot on his work, since he labors in a spiritually and emotionally toxic environment. After Rob, is the kids’ section. For them, as for the next section, each has his/her own page, with general and specific prayer items underneath. Since we have five kids, and there are conveniently five days in the week, each kid gets his/her own day for me to focus on in prayer. (If that child has a family now, then I do the whole family on that day.) Some years ago, I chose a theme verse for each of the kids/families, and have it written at the top of their page, so I first pray that verse over them. Then I pray the general things. For all the kids, I pray for their relationship with the Lord. For married kids, I pray such things as for the husbands to cherish the wives, for the wives to trust the husbands’ leading, for the wives to be good managers of their homes, for the husbands to find favor with their employers. I pray for wisdom for their parenting. I pray for my grandkids to grow in grace and the knowledge of the Truth. For my unmarried girls, I pray that if it is God’s intent that they should marry, that they would keep themselves in purity and that they would be preparing themselves to be fitting helpers for their husbands, and (as we have prayed for all the kids since they were little and have seen come to fruition with our oldest two) that God would likewise be preparing their future spouses. Then there are prayers for specific things such as jobs needed, school, housing, illness and such. Answers are noted, too, both here and in the next section.

The final section is by far the longest. It is similar to the kids’, except that it doesn’t have a verse for each one. In this section, I have a page for each extended family member/whole family (mom, siblings and siblings-in-love, aunts, uncles, cousins), close friends and their children, and my “otherkids” who I have known from infancy or toddlerhood here and am very close to. I also have some pages with lists of names that I don’t do as extensive prayers for, such as old homeschool friends who I am in little contact with now but who I still think of fondly or all the pastors I know. The key to doing this section is that I do not pray through all these pages every time, but just for a few, moving a marker along. Some days I may pray one or two pages, sometimes four or five, depending on time and how the Spirit moves. Sometimes someone is on my heart “out of turn”, or there are other things on my heart and I don’t get to that section at all. It generally takes me a couple of weeks to go all the way through the section – but at least no one gets forgotten!

There is no one “right” way to conduct our prayer life, no one “right” cause to pray for. I have a friend whose passion comes from the injunction to pray for government leaders. She begins every school day with a folder containing the names of every elected official for our county, for every state and federal legislator, for judges, for Cabinet members, and the President. She prays for them each by name. There are those whose passion is for missions, so they pray for many missionaries and mission organizations and for specific countries. There are those whose passion is the unborn, so they pray for the unborn, for their mothers, for agencies reaching out to them, for the holding back of agencies working against them, for government policy makers. And there are many, many Christians who don’t feel a particular burden for ANY special group, need, or cause! If you’ve asked God to lay something on your heart, and He hasn’t, then don’t worry. He obviously isn’t calling you to prayer as a passion, but has some other ministry for you to focus on.

Whether we have a passion for prayer, or a particular passion for which we pray, we are all TO pray; it is not optional. Like any spiritual discipline, the more we pray, the more familiar doing it becomes. If we ask God to teach us to pray, as Jesus’ disciples did, He will surely do so.

Prayer isn’t a matter of being a “warrior”. It is a matter of being aligned with God’s heart – and that is something open to ANY of His children.

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